


Lost and Found

by Joyful Molly (erestor)



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/Joyful%20Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And all the King's Horses, and all the King's Men, couldn't put Jamie together again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't let the beginning fool you: all my stories have happy endings.
> 
> There was really a Mr. Gillett serving on HMS Victory during the Battle of Trafalgar. A comment regarding this fact by Dauntless gave me the idea for this story. Cheers! The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are taken from Nursery Rhymes (trad.).
> 
> Beta: Eveiya

"What a tragedy. Parents shouldn't live to see their children's funerals."   
  
James Norrington was well in the mood for running his sword through the next phrasemonger pestering him with that statement. There had been nothing  _ left  _ of Jamie that could have been buried. All he had to remind him of his son was Jamie's lieutenant's patent and a lock of hair, fine like silk, cut off by the hand of his mother when he had been just a toddler.   
  
One shot from a French gun, and the young man had been gone. Norrington had been spared details, but he had fought in enough battles to know that they had probably used a bucket and a shovel to prepare Jamie for his funeral at sea.   
  
"And all the King's Horses, and all the King's Men, couldn't put Jamie together again..." Norrington murmured to himself, which earned him an odd look from his first lieutenant, Frank Jenkins.   
  
"Sir, with all due respect, wouldn't you rather continue this tomorrow? You must be tired."   
  
"Mr. Jenkins, mind your own business. How many are left?"   
  
Lt. Jenkins sighed and consulted the list.   
  
"Let me see... 4 that  _ could  _ be him, 3 that  _ might  _ be him, and one who's a wild guess."   
  
Norrington's frown deepened. Looking for Gillette at the naval hospital was like searching for a needle in a haystack. The lists with the names of the injured wasn't complete, and many names had been misspelled by some idiot at the admiralty. His search had become even more frustrating when he learned that some of the wounded had been placed in the care of good-natured townsfolk.   
  
Then there was the possibility that Gillette wasn't here at all, that "missing" meant "gone forever". Norrington simply refused to consider that option.   
  
Lt. Jenkins had no doubt that Thomas Gillette was dead. But he had served long enough under Captain Norrington to know that the man wouldn't believe in the death of his former first lieutenant until somebody would come forward and present Gillette's body to him.   
  
"Who's closest?" Norrington asked, leaning heavily on his cane.   
  
"One could-be-him, two might-be-him and the wild guess."   
  
"What are you waiting for then? Lead the way."   
  
Jenkins obeyed, careful not to leave his captain behind. He cursed that bloody Lt. Groves who had felt duty-bound to inform Norrington that Gillette had very likely died during the Battle of Trafalgar. Unfortunate, no doubt, and regrettable, but really no reason for Norrington to drag his loyal 1st lieutenant through the naval hospital of Gibraltar day after day!   
  
Norrington and Gillette hadn't exchanged a single word within the last twenty years. Rumours were afloat that there had been a terrible row between the two men right after the announcement of James Norrington's engagement to Miss Elizabeth Swann, and while most of it was hearsay, there must have been some truth to the claim that Gillette had committed the outrageous act of aiming his sword at his captain.   
  
Norrington had brushed this off as yarn, but how else could one explain that Gillette, no doubt a very capable officer, had never made it past lieutenant, while Norrington was well on his way to admiral?   
  
Thanks God the repairs on HMS  _ Buckthorn _ would soon be finished, and being in charge of his ship again would hopefully bring Norrington to his senses.   
  
Their search hadn't produced a single sign of that blasted Gillette. Jenkins couldn't remember in how many faces they had looked; who would have thought that there were so many red-heads in the Royal Navy?   
  
Jenkins approached a guard and showed him the list. The man scratched his head and pointed at a scrawny man of about fifty years of age. Jenkins looked over to Norrington, but the captain shook his head.   
  
This procedure was repeated two more times in different areas of the hospital. Norrington was tired and in pain, that was obvious from his ashen face.   
  
"Shouldn't we return, Sir?"   
  
"You forget the wild guess, Mr. Jenkins."   
  
"As you wish, Sir. Over there, please."   
  
The wild guess huddled under a coat that was at least three sizes too large for him. One foot was bandaged. The hands were hidden in long sleeves, and all that could be seen of his head was a shock of red hair.   
  
"Jenkins, that's a lad."   
  
"So it seems."   
  
"How likely is it then that he served as my first lieutenant on the  _ Dauntless _ ?"   
  
"Not very likely, Sir."   
  
The coat moved, and a pair of brown eyes became visible under a pale forehead.   
  
"Captain Norrington?"   
  
Norrington made one step forward and squinted his eyes.   
  
"You know me?"   
  
The coat nodded.   
  
"Yes, Sir."   
  
"What is your name?"   
  
"Midshipman Thomas Gillette, Sir."   
  
Norrington felt a lump in his throat.   
  
"Good grief. That's not possible."   
  
Thomas sat up, the coat still wrapped tightly around him.   
  
"My father often spoke of you."   
  
Norrington tried to ignore that the lad had used the past form.   
  
"I trust he is well?"   
  
A shadow fell on Thomas' face.   
  
"I was with him on the poop deck when we were attacked. Everything blew up, I don't know what happened to him."   
  
He was brave, Norrington had to give him credit for that. He obviously thought his father was dead, an opinion Norrington yet refused to share.   
  
"Does your family know that you're here, Thomas?"   
  
"Nobody to write to, Sir."   
  
"What about your mother?"   
  
Thomas looked embarrassed, and Norrington decided to delay further inquiries for the moment.   
  
"Sir, what are we going to do now?" Jenkins asked, not affected by the same memories and emotions as Norrington and eager to get out of the hospital.   
  
Norrington looked at Thomas thoughtfully.   
  
"We came here to find Thomas Gillette, we have been successful, we can leave now. Please follow me, Mr. Gillette."   
  
"But Sir, you can't do that!" Jenkins protested.   
  
Norrington straightened up and glared at Jenkins.   
  
"Are you trying to tell me what to do, lieutenant?"   
  
"No, Sir, of course not, my apologies, it's just that we can't take somebody with us and..."   
  
"Now you don't say... I can't wait to see who would try and stop me, Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Gillette here will accompany us; we can possibly not leave him here. Take off that coat, Mr. Gillette; it might have slipped your attention, but it's a French one."   
  
Thomas obeyed, revealing a skinny figure that reminded Norrington painfully of the gangly youth Gillette had been when their paths had first crossed.   
  
"How old are you?"   
  
"Eighteen, Sir. Almost. Next - winter."   
  
"Sixteen then."   
  
Norrington took off his own coat and handed it over to the youth. Thomas hesitated to take it, especially after seeing the disapproving expression on Lt. Jenkins' face.   
  
"Make haste, we don't have all day. It's just a coat. Can you stand up? Yes? Good, lean on Mr. Jenkins here for support."   
  
Jenkins paled upon seeing the captain's coat on Gillette. That was taking charity a little too far in his eyes.   
  
"Pardon me, Sir, but..."   
  
"Not if you continue to refuse following my orders. Mr. Gillette is injured, help him."   
  
"But Sir..." Jenkins tried to protest.   
  
"Mr. Jenkins, you are really testing my patience today. Would you rather serve somewhere else? In the Caribbean, maybe? I heard the dying rate is down to 18% within the first three months of service now."   
  
"No, Sir, of course not," Jenkins hurried to reply. "Come, lad, let me help you."   
  
"Thank you, Sir," Thomas politely replied, but there was also a fine, smug smile on his lips, and Norrington noticed with great pleasure that young Thomas was a true chip off the old block.   
  
* * *   
  
The journey back to London had been swift and without any complications. Thomas had been in the Royal Navy since his 12th year, and he had felt odd sailing on a ship as a mere passenger. Captain Norrington had offered him to be a guest at his house until he had made a full recovery, and Thomas had gladly accepted. If only his father could have been here as well.   
  
Thomas looked out of the coach that transported him and the captain to the Norrington's home, the one his father had once or twice referred to as a "magnificent cage for two monkeys". Thomas didn't think it looked too bad, just - big. One could probably get lost in there without problems! It was better than the hospital in any case, where the cries of the injured had kept him awake all night.   
  
The coach came to a halt, and James Norrington frowned when he saw the family's doctor leaving the house. As quick as he could he stepped off the coach.   
  
"Doctor Harrow! You here? Good grief, has anything happened to my wife?"   
  
The man wiped the sweat off his forehead.   
  
"Captain Norrington! No, everything is fine with the lady of the house, almost too fine, if I may say so. Please calm her down, the excitement is not good for her. I have very good news for you, though!"   
  
Thomas, who had followed Norrington, stood behind him, not quite sure what to do now.   
  
Again the doctor beamed at Norrington.   
  
"A miracle, Captain! Nothing short of a miracle!"   
  
"What? For the love of God, speak!"   
  
"It's Jamie, Captain! He's alive!"   
  
Norrington could feel how his heart skipped a beat. He trembled, his tongue licking his lips nervously.   
  
"If that's supposed to be a joke, I have to kill you, Sir."   
  
"God forbid I would ever joke about such a matter, Sir! It is true, Jamie is alive and here! A bit worse for the wear, and it will take some time for him to recover, but I swear by all that is dear to me: he is up there in his bedroom, by now possibly hugged to death by his mother!"   
  
"Oh my God..." Norrington murmured. He could hear Elizabeth's laughter, answered by a cough and some muffled words that could only come from one person. Without paying any further notice to the doctor or Thomas, he limped into the house, ignoring the pain in his leg.   
  
"Who is Jamie?" Thomas asked.   
  
Doctor Harrow looked at the young man over the rim of his glasses.   
  
"Why, James Norrington, the son of the house, of course! Thought to be killed while serving on the Temeraire. Quite alive, though!"   
  
"The Temeraire? But..."   
  
"I have to leave, I'm already very late. Please give my compliments to Mrs. Norrington, I will return to look after Jamie in the evening."   
  
The doctor nodded and left a very confused Thomas behind. Should he stay here and wait? Or knock on the door? Or just go in there?   
  
The Gillettes had never distinguished themselves by shyness, and so Thomas decided to enter the house. He could still leave if he was asked to.   
  
He stepped through the open front-door and sat down in a chair, waiting for the things to come.   
  
* * *   
  
Norrington stood in the door of his son's bedroom, hand clasped firmly over his mouth, or he would have screamed. Yes, it was Jamie - pale, gaunt and his arm in a sling, but it was his son.   
  
_ Alive.   
  
_ Elizabeth sat next to him on the bed, holding his uninjured hand, crying and ruffling his hair from time to time.   
  
"Father!" Jamie cried out, and tried to sit up. Alas, he winced and sank back in the cushions. "Ouch. That bloody splinter! Will take me weeks to sit on my arse again."   
  
"James, the language!" Elizabeth said disapprovingly and out of habit, only to break out in tears again.   
  
Norrington crossed the room. Elizabeth stood up and threw her arms around his neck.   
  
"He's back, James! Our boy is back!"   
  
He returned the hug, then patted Elizabeth's shoulder and let go of her, sitting down on a chair next to his son's bed.   
  
"Jamie - is it really you? But we were told..."   
  
Now this was difficult. He wanted to hug Jamie, but he feared he could cause him pain. So he just took his hand and pressed it. He had to touch him, to be sure that he was really alive.   
  
"I don't know who was blown apart, but it wasn't me, father! Maybe Collins, I really can't tell. There were fire and noise, and something hit me. Next thing I knew I was in the water and..."   
  
He broke off and turned his head to the other side, not wanting his father to see his tears.   
  
"It's alright, Jamie. You don't have to tell us now."   
  
It would probably have been appropriate to break out in song and dance about the return of his son, and cry and laugh, but that was just not the way James Norrington was. Elizabeth would probably call him cold-hearted later on, but he knew his son would understand.   
  
Jamie gave him a grateful smile.   
  
"But I have to tell you how I was rescued, father."   
  
"Jamie, you must be very tired, and..."   
  
"... but listen, it was..."   
  
"James, not now. You need to rest," Norrington said firmly.   
  
"You just can't stop ordering people around, can you."   
  
Norrington almost fell off his chair, and Jamie nodded.   
  
"You're right, lieutenant. He never lets me finish a sentence!"   
  
Slowly, very slowly Norrington turned his head towards the door. There were now strands of grey in the red hair, wrinkles around the eyes, and the lines in his face had deepened, but that aside, Thomas Gillette was still the same sarcastic bastard he had been twenty years ago.   
  
"Would have never made it out of there alive without him," Jamie explained. "Took us a while to get here, though, and then we learned that you all thought I was dead!"   
  
"Gillette?" Norrington croaked.   
  
"Yes, Captain Norrington.  _ Sir _ ."   
  
Elizabeth took Gillette's hand and held it.   
  
"I don't know how we can ever thank you, Mr. Gillette! I promise you my husband will do whatever he can to repay your kindness."   
  
"Or you could get rid of Jenkins that git, and have Lt. Gillette as your 1st, father!"   
  
Gillette snorted.   
  
"A simple 'thank you' will do, Jamie."   
  
"I - thank you," Norrington said, tongue-tied all of a sudden.   
  
"Oh, nothing to thank me for, Sir. It's been my pleasure."   
  
Norrington shook his head, hoping that his brain would start working again. It helped a little, and he suddenly remembered that he had brought a visitor with him.   
  
"I will be forever in your debt. The first instalment of the repayment is waiting for you outside the house. As for the rest - we will see."   
  
"I don't understand..."   
  
Norrington arched his eyebrows.   
  
"Of course you don't. You haven't changed a bit, Thomas."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Eveiya.

It was cold and rainy outside, and Thomas could see the passers-by through the window of Captain Norrington's library. The ladies were anxious to keep the hems of their dresses out of the puddles, and the gentlemen enjoyed the sight of exposed ankles and, thanks to gusts of wind, nicely shaped calves in silk stockings.   
  
Thomas sat in a large leather armchair opposite Jamie's. The son of Captain James Norrington tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest. It was a good thing Thomas could concentrate on more than one task; this allowed him to look out of the window, read a book and hold a conversation with his new friend at the same time.  
  
"What are you reading?" Jamie asked, shifting on his seat.   
  
"It's called _'Modern Chivalry: Containing the Adventures of Captain John Farrago and Teague O'Regan, His servant'_ by Hugh Henry Brackenridge."   
  
"Oh, I know that one. Boring. Father buys the oddest things. American he is, that Brackenridge chap. They know no bounds over there, not even when it comes to the titles of their books."   
  
Thomas shrugged.   
  
"It's very funny. Here we have an American with humour, so I'm hopeful that there are more."   
  
Jamie, whose ideas about the former colonies were rather conservative, decided to change the subject. He shifted again and groaned.   
  
"Damnation, I still can't sit on my arse. This house has turned into a bloody hospital! Your foot, father's knee and my arm. Three-legged cats, all of us."   
  
Thomas looked up from his book.   
  
"But at least you are here and can complain. Others were less fortunate."   
  
"You sound like my father. Are you sure they didn't mix us up when we were babies?"   
  
"Considering that you are four years older than I, it's not very likely."   
  
"True, that. And you look like the spitting image of your father. I suppose that helped mine greatly to identify you."   
  
"There weren't that many Gillettes at the hospital."   
  
They were treading on dangerous ground now. Jamie knew that he would have to talk about the battle and the way he had been injured if he asked Thomas for his time at the hospital. He wasn't ready to talk about this yet, neither about his fear nor his horror upon seeing Lt. Collins, who had been only one year his senior and a friend, being blown to pieces.   
  
"To think that my father rescued you, and yours rescued me! What might the odds of such a coincidence be, I wonder? It's almost unbelievable."   
  
Thomas closed his book and put it aside.   
  
"When we arrived, your doctor talked about a miracle. And I suppose that's what it is."   
  
"A miracle, yes. That's true."   
  
For a while the two young men sat in silence, though Thomas could tell by the frown on Jamie's face that he was raking his brain over something important.   
  
"Tom, have you ever enquired for the reason why your father fell out with mine?" he finally asked. "They must have been good friends, from all I know. What happened?"   
  
"I did ask once, but he didn't reply. It was obvious he didn't wish to discuss it, so I never approached him about it again. How about you? Did you ask?"   
  
"Talking to my father is like holding a conversation with a tongue-tied clam, and about as informative. He only said they had a disagreement, and that was it."   
  
"What is your opinion?"   
  
"I don't know. My father can be a very difficult man to get along with, I guess your father didn't feel comfortable serving under him anymore. What do you think?"   
  
Thomas blinked.   
  
"I think it was a matter of the heart."   
  
"A matter of the heart? Good grief, Tom! We're talking about our fathers here, the mere thought is disgusting! They are _old_!"   
  
He shuddered, and Thomas had to laugh.   
  
"They were young once as well. I think - I think they fell in love with the same lady. Maybe your mother? She's very beautiful and kind. They both courted her and then she chose your father, and mine couldn't stand it and left…"   
  
Thomas drifted off, lost in his fantasy of a tragic love affair.   
  
James laughed.   
  
"My mother said that your father used to hate her. He once told my grandfather that she needed a good spanking. Imagine!"   
  
"That sounds very much like my father. Well, then maybe it was another lady."   
  
"Maybe your mother?"   
  
Thomas quickly looked away.   
  
"No," was his brusque reply. "Your father would have never… it must have been somebody else."   
  
"Heh, probably. See, that's why I'd choose a good ship over a woman any time. You know what you get, you can't get cheated, and you'd very likely never fall out with your best friend."   
  
"I'm awestruck by your conclusions, Mr. Norrington, without a doubt based on many years of experience."   
  
Jamie threw a cushion after Thomas, who ducked and laughed.   
  
"Sarcastic git," Jamie said, and he would have poked his tongue out at Thomas if he hadn't felt too old for such behaviour. It was a good thing Thomas was here; he liked the midshipman, though he seemed to be far too serious for his age. He was good company, yet Jamie still felt terribly bored and useless. As much as he loved his parents and enjoyed everybody's attention, he was eager to return to his duties.   
  
"It's driving me insane to sit here all day, waiting for my bones to heal. Don't you long for the sea as well, Tom?"   
  
"Of course I do. The faster I can return to my duties, the quicker I can take my lieutenant's exam. Only one and a half years to go, but it seems to me like an eternity."   
  
Jamie snickered.   
  
"That's nothing compared to the exam itself, Tom. They will rake you over coals. That sure felt like an eternity to me, replying to all those questions and seeing them frown."   
  
"Thank you so much for your encouragement, Lt. Norrington."   
  
"You're very welcome, Midshipman Gillette. If they ask you to make and shorten sail, you can tell the captains of the examination board that you have no idea how it is done, but that you could recite a love poem."   
  
"Just you mock me, Jamie. I still think an unhappy love was the reason for their disagreement."   
  
Jamie steepled his fingers.   
  
"If that's the case I will find out. I'm like a truffle pig when it comes to disclosing secrets."   
  
"Just make sure you won't end up with an apple in your snout," Thomas replied, and reached for the book to continue his reading.   
  
* * *   
  
Elizabeth stood at the end of the dining-room table and eyed the decoration critically. The maid chewed her lip, worried that she might have forgotten something and would be reprimanded. Elizabeth was usually neither stern nor pedantic, but today was her 22nd wedding anniversary, and she wanted things to be perfect. She walked around the table and rearranged some flowers, refolded a napkin and was finally satisfied with the result.   
  
"Thank you, Alice. I'll call if you should be needed."   
  
Alice curtsied and returned to the kitchen, relief obvious on her face.   
  
"It looks perfect, dear. Just like you," Norrington commented. He was standing next to the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, watching his wife's efforts with an amused smile.   
  
"You've never been a convincing liar," she replied, and winked at her husband. "We should have married in summer, then we could have a picnic. Just you and I, without those blatherskites and swanks. And I could definitely do without their wives, bunch of viperish, empty-headed old cats that they are."   
  
He laughed.   
  
"If you should feel tempted to chase the lot out of the house, be my guest. I'll gladly lend you my sword for that noble deed."   
  
"Don't tempt me, James. It would be a much-welcome diversion."   
  
Norrington looked at the portrait above the fireplace, which showed him and Elizabeth on their first wedding anniversary. A beautiful young woman with a whimsical smile, holding an infant. Behind her a not-so young and rather uptight-looking commodore.   
  
Elizabeth, who saw him looking at the painting, came to stand next to him and put her hand on his arm.   
  
"Jamie looks like a cherub on that painting, don't you agree?"   
  
"Yes, it's amazing. In truth he resembled a dried prune."   
  
"James!"   
  
"He's turned out fine, mind you. And I'm very glad that he has your spirit rather than mine. I'm afraid he'd bore all the lovely young ladies craving his attention out of his head otherwise."   
  
Elizabeth leaned her head on his shoulder.   
  
"You're not boring, James. You've never been. Just a bit - reserved."   
  
Norrington looked at her, his face suddenly quite serious.   
  
"Have you ever regretted it, Elizabeth? I mean, marrying me?   
  
She frowned.   
  
"That's a very odd question, James. Especially on this day."   
  
"This day or any other; I sometimes wonder. I wouldn't hold it against you, my dear. I'm just curious."   
  
Elizabeth tapped her index finger on her lips.   
  
"Regretted? No. No, I can honestly say that I haven't regretted my decision for a moment. But I admit that there have been times when I contemplated how my life would have been if I'd turned you down."   
  
"And you realised that being the wife of a blacksmith with twelve children would not have been your idea of an ideal life."   
  
"James, he only has ten children, and his wife looks happy enough."   
  
"My apologies, my dear."   
  
Elizabeth shook her head.   
  
"It seems to be your intention to celebrate this anniversary with an interrogation, James. I can't say I'm surprised, I've expected something in this direction."   
  
Norrington arched his eyebrows.   
  
"You did? Actually, no, it's not my intention to interrogate you, Elizabeth. Not at all. I was just thinking."   
  
"Of Thomas Gillette?"   
  
"Elizabeth!"   
  
She sat down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace and stared into the flames.   
  
"James, we're married for twenty-two years today. Do you really think me to be so blind?"   
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about."   
  
"I'm talking about choices, James. You asked me if I ever regretted that I accepted your proposal. How about you? Any regrets?"   
  
"I really can't see what..." he began, but Elizabeth cut him off.   
  
"I wouldn't hold it against you either, James. But I'm curious. Did you regret it?"   
  
"No," Norrington said firmly. "Never."   
  
"But you did wonder at times what it would have been like if..."   
  
"Elizabeth, please. We really shouldn't hold such a conversation on this day. This or any other, as for that."   
  
"Ah, the return of the commodore. You've been like that back then, James. Always reserved, never revealing your feelings. You hinted, I had to guess. We could have both spared ourselves a lot of grief if you'd only once told me that you loved me."   
  
"A blind could have seen that I loved you!"   
  
"I'd have preferred it if you'd told me."   
  
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been the man you were dreaming off, and I'm well aware that it hasn't been easy for you to live with me. But I hope you never doubted my feelings, for they were and still are sincere."   
  
"I know they are. As sincere as the ones you hold for dear Mr. Gillette."   
  
His hand grasped to the mantle of the fireplace for support.   
  
"Elizabeth..."   
  
She looked up to him.  
  
"We are so much alike, James. Has this never occurred to you? We both had to make a decision, and we both chose the option that allowed us to love and be loved without ending on the gallows. Can we be blamed for this? I don't think so."   
  
Norrington limped to the armchair next to her and sat down. He took her hand, and she smiled at him, caressing his knuckles with her thumb. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.  
  
"Elizabeth, dearest Elizabeth; what can I say? What do you want me to do?"   
  
"My father wrote that he would come to visit us. He wishes to spend some time with Jamie while he's still here and recovering. He will keep me company, so you could spend some days at our cottage and recover from your injuries. I suggest you'll take a friend along - you could talk about old times."   
  
He stared at her in complete bewilderment.   
  
"Elizabeth! Are you aware what you are suggesting here?   
  
He looked in her face for a sign of sarcasm or wickedness, but all he could find was understanding and a loving smile. The cheerful, pretty girl he had married had grow into a beautiful, mature woman, and he felt privileged that he had been allowed to accompany her on her way.  
  
Norrington cleared his throat.   
  
"I - well. This is - twenty-two years, and you still manage to surprise me, Elizabeth."   
  
"That's what keeps a marriage happy," she said, and kissed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He could not see which way to go, if you did not twinkle so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta by Eveiya.

It was a good thing the housekeeper of the cottage, Mrs. Burton, had already arranged everything for the arrival of Captain Norrington and his guest and lit a fire. The weather had worsened since their departure; due to the rain and heavy gales their journey had taken far longer than expected, and James and Thomas had arrived at 'Birch Grove' wet to the bones, exhausted and in a foul mood.   
  
However, after a quick change of clothes and a cup of rum with a lacing of tea things had improved, and the excellent grilled lamb with roasted potatoes had found their greatest approval.   
  
"Very unwise thing to do, Sir, travelling in this weather," Mrs. Burton grumbled while clearing the table, disapproval obvious on her face. "Especially with your leg and all. Your wife should've kept you home, that's what I say. Young women nowadays, no common sense… wouldn't have had that with my Henry, no, Sir!"   
  
The two men had a hard time stifling their laughter. Mrs. Burton disappeared in the kitchen, and if the ferocity she handled the tableware with was anything to go by, she was tearing strips off poor Elizabeth.   
  
"She scares me, James," Thomas whispered. "She looks like the boatswain we had on the _Dauntless_."   
  
"True," James whispered back, "if he'd had whiskers, she'd be the spitting image of him."   
  
Some time later, Mrs. Burton returned to the dining room, already wearing pattens, a thick coat and a large scarf.   
  
"Leaving you now, Sirs. I'll be back in the early morning, preparing breakfast."   
  
"No, please, my dear Mrs. Burton, that certainly won't be necessary. Lt. Gillette and I are both exhausted from our journey, and we will very likely not be up before lunch. It will be fine if you are here in the early evening."   
  
Mrs. Burton glared at James and waved his words aside.   
  
"Ah bah, nonsense! It's not good for a man to skip breakfast, Sir. Can't have you and the lieutenant here starving, now can I?"   
  
"Very kind of you, Mrs. Burton, but I must insist. I couldn't bear the thought of a lady out in such beastly weather that early in the day."   
  
"If you say so, Sir," she grumbled, but it was obvious that she was flattered. "Have a good night then, gentlemen. Fire's lit in the bedrooms. You better take young master Jamie's one, Sir. It's warmer there; at your age, one has to be careful."   
  
"I thank you for your concern, Mrs. Burton. I wouldn't know how to manage without your help, considering my advanced age."   
  
James' sarcasm was lost on Mrs. Burton.   
  
"No need to thank me, Sir. My Henry's been just like you, never listened to my advice. And where is he now? On the churchyard. Hah!"   
  
With those encouraging words Mrs. Burton left, and the two men let out a sigh of relief.   
  
"A housekeeper can be quite a humbling experience. Looks like she has a weak spot for you, James."   
  
"With a bit of luck, she might dote on you in future."   
  
"I fear for my life. And now please tell me: why are we here?"   
  
James twiddled his thumbs, then he swiped an imaginary bread crumb off the table.   
  
"There are some things we need to discuss."   
  
"For example?"   
  
James sighed. It was difficult to find a start, so he just said the first thing that crossed his mind.   
  
"I think you should make captain."   
  
Thomas' face hardened.   
  
"You have dragged me to this cottage in the middle of nowhere to tell me _that_? Certainly you must be jesting?"   
  
That was not going well.   
  
"No! I - it's just because Jamie suggested that you should serve under my command again. I wanted to tell you that I don't desire this."   
  
"I have no desire to serve under your command again, either."   
  
No, that was not going well at all.   
  
"That's not what I - it's just that - I wondered if -"   
  
"You used to be able to form coherent sentences," Thomas interrupted him. "Maybe you should try that approach?"   
  
James cleared his throat.   
  
"I wouldn't want you on my ship because I couldn't give you orders anymore. Considering that I had twenty-two years to find the right words, I'm not doing very well, I suppose. I feel like an old fool."   
  
It finally dawned Thomas what this might be all about.   
  
"You should have felt like a fool back then. I told you that I love you, and asked if you returned my feelings. If I remember correctly, your reply was 'yes, but I think I'll marry Elizabeth'..."   
  
"I'm aware that it was not the most diplomatic answer."   
  
"And now you want to apologise? This is very embarrassing, I'd rather see this conversation coming to an end."   
  
"We've lost twenty years, Thomas. If we can manage not to get ourselves killed, we might still have ten good years ahead of us."   
  
" _For_ us?"   
  
James saw the mixture of hope and fear on Thomas' face, just like on that terrible evening so many years ago.   
  
"Stay here. Please. With me."   
  
Thomas leaned forward.   
  
"When we first met, it was the Royal Navy Article Of War no. 28. Then it became no. 29, and now it's no. 30. The numbers may have changed, but the consequences in case of breach are still the same. 'Punished with death by the sentence of a court martial', James. Are you absolutely certain you want this? "   
  
"Absolutely."   
  
"Ah."   
  
They sat in silence for a while, watching each other; Thomas scared of making a decision, James afraid of what that decision might be.   
  
Finally, Thomas stood up and pushed the chair back.   
  
"It's your house, James. Lead the way."   
  
* * *   
  
James headed for Jamie's bedroom. He wouldn't have felt comfortable staying with Thomas in the same room he usually shared with Elizabeth.   
  
Hallway and corridor had been chilly, and the small bedroom was warm, thanks to the efficient Mrs. Burton. She had heaped at least three covers on the narrow bed to make sure poor Captain Norrington wouldn't freeze to death during the night. Thoughtful soul that she was, she had also put the cordial he used to take in the evening on the bedside table and, to James' greatest embarrassment, the chamber pot next to the bed.   
  
That just couldn't work.   
  
"This is the most ridiculous, embarrassing, idiotic and pathetic situation I've ever been in," he stated, and kicked the pot under the bed. "I suggest we go downstairs and get drunk instead. This is absurd!"   
  
He turned around, but Thomas stood between him and the door and made no attempt to step aside.   
  
"Would you be good enough to move?" he snapped.   
  
"I thought you'd never ask."   
  
Thomas reached out and began to open James' cravat, the tip of his tongue firmly pressed in the corner of his mouth and a concentrated look on his face. He used to look like that while studying a nautical chart or making notes.   
  
"What on earth are you doing, Thomas?"   
  
"I'm trying to undress you. But please continue your twaddle; I can open buttons and listen to you simultaneously."   
  
"You say that as if it was the most normal thing to do."   
  
"You twaddling?"   
  
"You undressing me."   
  
Thomas put the cravat aside. He began to fiddle with the bow in James' pigtail, standing so close to him now that James could feel his breath on his skin. James wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, so he clasped them behind his back, as if he were on deck of _HMS Buckthorn_.   
  
The bow joined the cravat, and Thomas put his arms around Norrington's waist, pulling him close.   
  
"You used to be smaller," James muttered.   
  
"No, but you held your nose so high that you seemed to be taller."   
  
James had often wondered what it would have been like if he'd kissed Thomas all those years ago. Awkward and clumsy, their noses bumping, and very likely also nothing short of a battle, as none of them would have allowed the other to take the lead without arguing about it first.   
  
Now _Thomas_ was kissing _him_ , a scenario that had never really crossed his mind, and it was not like anything he had ever imagined. Neither awkward nor clumsy, but loving and right. Thomas teased him, nipped on his lower lip, then withdrew only to kiss him again. Thomas' hands were now on James' back and on the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. His skin tingled, and he could feel the heat beginning to spread in his body. It was like running a fever, or like being drunk from heady wine.   
  
"It _is_ the most normal thing, James," Thomas whispered in his ear, then nuzzled the exposed soft skin of his neck, which seemed to be an even more intimate act than the kiss. James unclasped his hands and returned the embrace hesitantly. Thomas sighed happily and buried his face in James' hair.   
  
"Now isn't it a good thing the days of the wigs are over," he said, and had to chuckle when James sniffed indignantly.   
  
"I still feel that we've looked more dignified wearing wigs."   
  
"As if one needed to wear bleached horsehair to look dignified. I hated them. Especially on you. The way you look now, _that_ is dignified."   
  
They kissed again, and from the confident way Thomas touched him, James guessed that this was not the first time he broke that bloody useless article no. 30. He could have asked him, but he'd rather not know. Not 'when', not 'why', and certainly not 'who'. It made him feel a little inadequate, what if he did everything wrong? It had always been him who had the knowledge, and Thomas had taken his orders. Now there were no ranks between them anymore; if caught, they'd be hanged with the same kind of rope.   
  
James forgot all about ranks and hangings when Thomas' hands caressed his backside, pressing him close to his body. If Thomas' reaction was anything to go by, it couldn't be completely wrong what he was doing.   
  
Shoes, stockings, waistcoats, shirts and breeches piled up on the floor, a mess of silk and wool and linen that James wouldn't have tolerated under normal circumstances. Now he didn't even notice. He was mesmerised by the sight of Thomas: the sharp contrast between weather-beaten face and hands and the white skin on the rest of his body. There were countless scars; of some James knew the origin, others were unknown to him.   
  
"You must have quite a few battles behind you," Thomas said, and reached out to run two fingers along a scar that went from James' collar bone down to his ribs. James shivered; not only because the touch aroused him, but also because Thomas had obviously mused about the same things. They were a perfect match, despite their differences.   
  
"A few. Just like you."   
  
Thomas smiled. He took James hand and lied back on the bed, dragging him along. James shifted until he lay on top of Thomas, in a position that was comfortable for both of them. The feeling of Thomas' body and the knowing smile on his face alone almost made him come. James had to take a few deep breaths to calm down and gather himself before he kissed him.   
  
James realised that Thomas allowed him to take the lead, knowing well how awkward he would feel in the role of the novice. It was overwhelming, the care and the tenderness, the love for Thomas; James was carried away by it like a leaf in a river. He had to kiss and touch him, explore every inch of his body, every hair, every mole, even every bloody freckle, and Thomas had a lot of them. The discovery of a treasure island could not have excited him more than finding a spot just above Thomas' hipbone that made him squirm and cry out when caressed.   
  
Their bodies rocked against each other; Thomas' fingernails left angry red welts on James' back, and he bit down so hard on Thomas' shoulder at one point that he could taste the coppery flavour of blood in his mouth. This sensual frenzy couldn't last long, and it didn't. Their movements became increasingly erratic; Thomas was strong, and James had to be careful not to be thrown over and out of the bed. He pinned Thomas' hands above his head, holding him down while grinding against him.   
  
"Finish this!" Thomas hissed, bucking under him. The command, accompanied by a wanton look from under short, ginger lashes was enough to push James over the edge. He cried out, and Thomas followed suit, repeating James' name over and over again. James collapsed on top of him, trembling and close to crying, desperately trying to catch his breath. There was so much he wanted to say, a thousands thoughts racing through his mind, but he didn't have the strength left to speak. He reached for Thomas' hand and kissed each finger, then rested his cheek in its palm.   
  
"I love you," he murmured, twenty-two years delayed, but fortunately not too late.   
  
* * *   
  
Thomas ran the tips of his fingers over the scratches on James' back, as if his caresses could make them disappear and soothe the throbbing pain.   
  
"I'm sorry that I hurt you," he said. "I didn't want this. It just - happened."   
  
James, who had been a dead weight resting on his lover, stirred and pressed a kiss on the skin just below Thomas' ear.   
  
"I didn't notice anything."   
  
"Still, I'm sorry."   
  
Thomas drew lazy circles and patterns on James' back, wrote his name just for the fun of it and ran his fingers through James' hair, playing with in. He delighted in the feeling of wrapping a strand around a finger, or pushing a lock behind James' ear.   
  
"We're lovers now," Thomas said. "I like the sound of that: lovers. That's better than 'senior officers'."   
  
"Absolutely. It should be a special rank."   
  
Thomas smiled wickedly at James.   
  
"Would the lover serve under the captain, or the captain under the lover?"   
  
James rubbed his cheek on Thomas' chest and closed his eyes.   
  
"This depends on the ability of the captain to move in the morning or not."   
  
* * *   
  
"Do you want more of the ham, grandfather?" Jamie yelled. He had to yell, otherwise Weatherby Swann wouldn't have understood him. The former governor was still in best of health and, despite his age, very popular with the ladies for his charms and wit, but unfortunately, he had become very hard of hearing, which made conversations between him and his family rather tiring.   
  
He reached for his ear trumpet, and Jamie repeated his question.   
  
"Ham? Yes, certainly, my dear boy!"   
  
The servant hurried to Mr. Swann's side, and while she heaped more meat and potatoes on his plate, Mr. Swann turned to his daughter, who had already finished her meal and was discussing a book on poetry with Thomas.   
  
"Elizabeth, dearest, you still haven't told me where James is."   
  
"James is staying at our cottage, father."   
  
"Yes, yes, you said that," Mr. Swann replied impatiently, "but I still don't understand what he's doing there at this time of the year!"   
  
"Actually, I'm rather curious as well," Jamie said, and looked at his mother. "Usually, you two stay there in summer, but now it's November. It must be terribly dull, especially with that weather."   
  
Elizabeth looked from her father to her son and folded her hands on the table.   
  
"James is hunting foxes," she said.   
  
Mr. Swann held the ear trumpet to his ear.   
  
"I'm sorry my dear, could you repeat your answer? I fear I haven't heard you quite right. I understood you said he went on a fox hunt!"   
  
Both he and Jamie laughed.   
  
"Well, yes. James _did_ go on a fox hunt."   
  
"I always thought father doesn't care for hunting?"   
  
Elizabeth looked at Thomas, who followed the conversation wide-eyed and slightly confused. Then she smiled at her son.   
  
"That is true, Jamie. But he's very fond of foxes."


End file.
